Throne
by crescent-moon-demon
Summary: Hellbat dreams a dream about his "Queen". HellbatxLeozack, Mech/Mech, drabble


**C.M.D: Ah, Hellbat~ You could be a fangirl's best friend. Truly XD**

* * *

_**Throne**_

* * *

He was nothing but a lowly servant...

"My queen," he breathed, kneeling before the Destron's throne. One arm was crossed across his chestplates, his helm bowed in a show of fealty. His gaze he kept respectively lowered as well, wishing only to display the utmost adoration and devotion for the mech seated before him. To look anywhere other than the ground below him would be out of place. After all, he was not worthy enough to stare at divinity incarnate and not be punished for it in return.

"Hellbat...," came the biting hiss. Red optics narrowed, flaring brightly, the teal helm canting slightly to the side and lazily resting against his fist. "Why do you bother to bow? We both know what a traitorous scum you really are."

His wings shivered at the hateful words, not out of fear or anger, but in response to that beautiful vocalizer washing over his bent frame, drowning him in its sweet tones. Oh, how he longed to always hear his queen speak, whether it be with praise or condemnation. But first... "No, my queen," the aforementioned 'bot began, his helm dipping lower as he spoke his protests. "Not a traitor, nor scum -not towards anything you are responsible for, oh gracious one. I have nothing but complete loyalty and affection for you."

He dared now to look up, seeing the exquisite, lank form leaning back casually against the obsidian throne; arms cushioned against silk pillows and harsh optics drilling into his helm ceaselessly. The teal mane on either side of his helm made the mech look refined and innocent, even though his strong legs and flared wings gave the opposite affect. They showed his prowess, especially when set against the vibrancy of his blood-red optics and the black, thin crown nestled neatly atop his helm. Ensnared by the other's beauty, it took him astroseconds to realize that his queen had fallen mute, a deep scowl pulling at plump lip components.

Quickly, he bowed his helm again, crawling forwards in submission. "Forgive me, my queen," he said, brazenly reaching forwards and cupping one of the lovely pedes in his servos. How he desperately wished to call this goddess by his name, but he was not worthy of that. He was but a poor, pathetic servant... no. Slave. Yes, he was a slave to his queen. Slaves did not address divinity so informally.

"I beg for your clemency. I was out of place to gaze upon you without first receiving such a blessing," he apologized profusely, his mask snapping back to reveal the lower half of his face. Shifting his grip, the mech bowed further, cupping his queen's pede like one cradles an infant, before planting admiring, longing kisses along the plating fleetingly. "My queen... I have wronged you... desecrated you... shamed you... Your beauty exceeds mortality and is therefore too great for my optics to see. Let this pitiful worm correct his transgressions and prove to you the deepness of his fealty! I, your humble, loyal and undeserving pawn, would desire nothing more than to put your doubts about my loyalties at ease."

With every sentence, he moved upward, in a slow, quivering line; pressing further chaste kisses to the other Destron's shin, knee joint and then the first couple inches of his thigh -amazed and overwhelmed by the privilege he was being given at this very moment. None of his so-called comrades had even gotten this close to worshipping the goddess seated before him...

He paused, uncertain if he should continue or if he had finally over-stepped his boundaries. Glancing up at his queen only showed the mech sitting as he had been earlier, but looking a tad bit more bored. Catching his gaze on him, the teal 'bot snarled, lashing forward and roughly grabbing him by the fin atop his helm. Swallowing back his grunt, he stared up at his queen, awaiting the punishment that he was sure would follow.

He was understandably surprised when it did not come.

"Show me," his majesty demanded, optics flaring as the other mech released him and leaned back in his seat. Sinking forward an inch, his queen spread his thighs, propping his helm back on his curled fist and looking expectantly at him. "Persuade me of your allegiance."

He stared, stunned, at the provocative position that the teal Destron was in, before he finally regained control of his limbs after a couple astroseconds. Spark pulsating in rapture, he shuffled forwards, almost afraid that this was nothing but a cruel taunt and that the white thighs would snap close on him suddenly. Nothing of the sort occurred as he settled in, face inching towards the teal plating. A small hiss and a click, and the metal was retracting, displaying the divine valve beneath; the wires taut and rippling around each other in the untouched passage, lubricants rich and heavily scented.

Hungering for fulfilment...

A task that he had so blessedly been offered.

"Prove to me your worth...," the lovely vocalizer of his queen was saying, almost breathless this time. "Give me your reasons."

There was no other incentive necessary. Smiling in rapture, he leaned in, already salivating at the thought of the bliss he would bring his queen with this act, and the delicious gift he himself was about to partake in.

* * *

Optics onlining hurriedly, Hellbat shot up in berth, clutching his poorly made Leozack plushie to his chestplates and staring down between his trembling legs with wonder. His spike was proudly displayed, fully pressurized and slicked with the left-over fluids of his release. Never, never, before had the Destron enjoyed a dream so much that he would full-out overload from the simulation without once even touching himself. And yet here he was, in berth, with a sticky mess between his thighs and still aching for more...

Sighing, Hellbat forced his spike back into its casing, deciding that right now was not worth the time and effort it would take for him to masturbate. He needed to be in the command deck shortly for their latest battle strategy meeting. Still, the blue mech spared a few moments to dig a hidden datapad out from between the posts of his berth, turning it on and quickly scribbling 'eating out on the throne' to his growing list of favourite sexual fantasies he wished to do with Leozack.

If only his lieutenant commander would give him a second glance...

Preferably without all the hate, suspicion and downright disgust.

Sighing at his sorry state of affairs, the spy tucked his datapad back into its hiding place, rising to his pedes and skipping to the door; looking forward to another cycle or two of sneaking glances at his gorgeous superior from across the room and daydreaming about their life together.

* * *

**C.M.D: How much you wanna bet that Leozack would love the "royal" treatment (despite how he might say otherwise)?  
Be kind; give me your mind~ REVIEW, please?**


End file.
